


See That Animal

by SilentSinger



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Animal Death (a cow gets it - not too much detail), Blood, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSinger/pseuds/SilentSinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse gets to know the real Cassidy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See That Animal

**Author's Note:**

> Set before S01E07, where Jesse is still in sweet denial about Cass' vampirism.  
> I've never read the comics so any attempt at background is pure artistic license.

Jesse Custer was not a good man. Sure, he looked the part, dressed the part, played the part – the hallowed and noble town preacher, he listened to the inhabitants of Annville, the good, the bad, the outright sinners. He even tried to help them, he really did.

He’d taken in a lodger as of late, a nomad, a wanderer – said he was a vampire. An abomination of God, if you will. He’d helped this man, this so-called vampire, given him shelter, given him advice, given him... companionship.

Abomination or not, the fellow was good company.

If asked, Jesse would laugh it off. “Ain’t no such thing as vampires,” he’d say.

Spooks, ghouls, things that go bump in the night – bunch of horseshit. The only reality was tangible, solid fact, and of course – the Lord’s almighty presence.

That said, what Jesse Custer said he believed, versus what Jesse Custer _actually_ believed, were not one and the same. But even after half a bottle of Ratwater and a toke on Cass’ apple pipe, he’d never admit such a thing.

Tangible, solid _fact._

Regardless, it had not gone unnoticed to Jesse that the vermin around here had somewhat diminished as of late. And really, what was Cassidy doing for so long in the bathroom?

Probably just jerkin’ off in there, like normal folk. The kid was a hedonist – but he was good people.

Good people. Heh. Jesse’s checklist for ‘Good People’ was becoming increasingly smaller lately. They breathin’? They walkin’? They servin’ God? Good people. Was Jesse himself Good People? Nah. But he’d sure as shit admonish those who dared suggest the contrary. Tulip knew. Oh, Tulip knew just about everything. Which is why he insisted that she leave him the fuck alone.

Cassidy... well Cass didn’t know a damn thing. Their late-night tête-à-têtes had become the norm lately. They’d shoot the shit, they’d drink, smoke, discuss popular culture – Cassidy’s hatred of Ethan and Joel Coen would always take centre-stage, by this point. Occasionally Jesse would touch upon his own past, whereas Cass would obliviously disregard any such turn in conversation, and continue his bombastic criticism of _The Dude_ et al.

Eventually Jesse gave up the ghost, content to just let things be. We’ll drink, we’ll smoke. We’ll be pals. Let’s be _pals._

And so they were. Or so they thought.

****

Cassidy was always getting himself into what Jesse had blithely dubbed – _predicaments._ This time, he’d had the everloving shit beaten out of him at the local bar. Apparently, this instance – he’d said – was down to a girl.

“Old fella’ didn’t know what was good fer ’im,” he says, wincing as he holds an ice pack to one blackened and swollen eye. “I coulda shown her the world, Jess. The fuckin’ world. All that gobshite had to offer her was a pickup truck and-”

“A big bunch of friends?” says Jesse, smiling as he pours them both a stiff one.

“Aye, yeah. That too.”

“They got you pretty bad,” Jesse remarks, taking stock of the bruises, cuts and swellings adorning his companion. “Is that a broken rib?”

“Might be. I’ll be fine, Padre. Come sundown. I’ll be just fine.”

Jesse raises one eyebrow and takes a sip. Elijah Craig 18. There was good bourbon, and then there was Elijah _fucking_ Craig eighteen-year-old single barrel. Can’t even buy this stuff no more.

“I see yer bringing out the big guns,” Cass grins, eyeing the bottle with an expression of utmost reverence.

“You looked like you needed it, friend.”

“Come sundown, Padre, come sundown.”

****

There was no motive to the madness that night. Sundown came, and Jesse was curious. He’d slept off the afternoon’s imbibement, and was of sound mind and sound body when he followed Cass out of the church and into the fields beyond.

Cassidy was limping, clutching his arms close to his body as he walked – no – stumbled across the terrain. He moved with purpose, though, like a pigeon homing in on its last stop.

There was a ranch nearby; its cattle could often be seen wandering aimlessly around the arid landscape. That was where Cassidy was heading now.

Jesse – feeling perplexed, curious, and well, just good old-fashioned _nosy_ at this point – hangs way back and continues his role of silent stalker. _Jesse Custer – Secret Agent. No job too big, no job too small – Jesse Custer’ll take ’em all._

As it transpires, Cassidy doesn’t make it all the way to the ranch, after all. An errant cow plods across the field, lackadaisical in its movements – as cows often are – the soft thud of its hooves just about audible from where Jesse stands, hidden, waiting, behind the girth of a large oak tree.

Now, you better believe, that during the tenure of his short life, Jesse has seen a fair few things. Things that might send a normal person running screaming for the hills – things that might even whiten a person’s hair overnight. Jesse Custer has seen some shit, and more often than not – these abhorrent situations, these scenarios kids would whisper about around campfires, just to see who was a ’fraidy cat and who was gonna start blubberin’ first – these situations that adults would see on the news and change the channel, so they don’t have to believe for one moment longer that they live in a world where such atrocities are possible – more often than not, Jesse Custer himself had been directly involved.

But Jesse Custer was not prepared for what he saw next.

One moment they’re stood there – simply regarding one another. Cass, cow. Cow, Cass. The next, Cassidy is leaping at it, clawing at it, biting it, tearing it to pieces. Right before Jesse’s eyes they merge into a cloud of dust – like some sort of fucking cartoon fight, or the Tasmanian Devil or some crazy-ass shit.

Jesse observes for just long enough – long enough so’s he’ll be waking up in the dead of night hearing those noises over and over again, and recounting those flashes of tooth, blood and claw – and then Jesse runs. Runs for the hills.

****

He arrives back at the church, sweating, panting. Collapses face-first onto the nearest pew, gropes blindly at the floor until his hands embrace the comforting sensation of cool glass. He sits upright, uncaps the bottle, takes a swig. Squeezes his eyes tight and takes another. No fine aged single barrel this time, just plain ol’ Ratwater and a shaking hand.

And there he sits, waiting in the dark like a parent anticipating the untimely arrival of an errant child.

Cassidy returns with little fanfare; he almost looks sheepish as he gingerly closes the door behind him. He’s covered from head to toe with blood, grime, and assorted _God knows what._ He’s also no longer limping.

“The Prodigal Son returns,” Jesse murmurs, as he rises to his feet to face Cassidy.

“Padre! Jess. Jesse. Old pal. I didn’t see ye there.” Cassidy’s demeanour could easily be described with one word: _flustered._

“Funny, that,” Jesse begins. “’Cause I saw a whole lot more than I needed to, tonight.”

It wasn’t, of course, the unfortunate demise of the bovine that bothered him. What really angered Jesse was the fact that before him, stood a being who could not be explained. God couldn’t explain it; Jesse sure as shit couldn’t explain it. A vampire? Fuck off.

A look of dawning realisation spreads across Cassidy’s crimson-stained face. “Y’followed me?”

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Now look, Jess.” Cass raises his soiled hands in a gesture of submission, as he closes the gap between them. “I never lied to ye. I told ye’s what I was.”

And here it is. Jesse Custer’s infamous white-hot _rage._ Tulip had got off on it; dumbasses stupid enough to cross him had realised quickly enough that Jesse was not a man to be fucked with, in any shape or form. It was controlled though. Jesse could govern and channel that shit like a tai chi master. “And you thought for one second I fuckin’ believed that bullshit?” he hisses, his voice low and eerily calm.

“Well, y’believe in a fair amount of other bullshit,” Cassidy growls, with a pointed glance at the crucifix behind Jesse.

**“Be quiet.”**

Jesse instantly claps his hand to his mouth as if trying to urge the utterance back inside, in a manner reminiscent of a 1950s film starlet – all wide eyes and fluttering lashes. Cassidy can’t help but smile.

“Cass, _shit,_ Cass, I’m so sorry,” Jesse begins, his indignation fading some – but not completely. “I’m- I mean... **speak.”**

“Padre...” Cassidy croaks, as if recovering from a bout of laryngitis. “And there I was t’inking ye were goin’ to punish me.”

Jesse remains silent, his eyes scanning every inch of his companion. The blood, the grime, the impish smile. He recalls the noises – those horrifying noises – growls and squeals and flesh being torn asunder that had occurred tonight courtesy of one Irish vampire – an abomination of God Himself that stood before him now, bold as brass. Jesse has to admit that he does want to break the fellow, just a little. “Would you like that?” he whispers finally.

For a moment they just regard one another – almost as a queer parallel to Cassidy’s earlier confrontation. Jess, Cass. Cass, Jess. The question was – who was going to start attacking first?

It’s Cassidy who breaks the silence. “That,” he says, inching closer to Jesse until barely a sliver of light is visible between them, “is an answer I’ll leave in yer capable hands, Jesse Custer.”

Jesse, well Jesse doesn’t say a damn thing. A baleful smirk plays upon his lips as he fingers his belt buckle, and unzips his pants to free his already painfully hard cock. Cassidy’s presence alone had been enough to get him going, the foulness, the dirt and the demure yet impudent way he’d reacted to Jesse’s confrontation. The moment he’d stepped close enough, close enough so’s Jesse could smell that death, smell that danger, he’d wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to roll around in Cass like a hog in shit.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess, Cass,” Jesse breathes, as his pants and underwear hit the floor. He raises his palm to Cassidy’s face, and Cass licks a long, wet stripe across it. His tongue feels like sandpaper – like a cat’s tongue.

Jesse proceeds to stroke himself with protracted, languid movements, eyes never leaving Cassidy’s. Cassidy licks his blood-smeared lips in anticipation.

Finally a command breaks the reticence, three simple words that reverberate around the small church hall.

**“On your knees.”**

“Padre,” Cassidy begins, sinking to the floor at once, “I t’ought you’d never ask.”

Cass swallows him deep right away – his hands squeezing and clawing at Jesse’s buttocks – urging him closer as his tongue dances around Jesse’s length. It doesn’t feel like sandpaper at all; it feels like Heaven; it feels like every fuckin’ great blow job Jesse has ever had all at once; it feels like-

_“Fuck,_ Cass,” Jesse groans.

And Cassidy is just the gift that keeps on giving. He hums around the flesh in his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth _oh-so-lightly_ grazing as Jesse grips handfuls of grime-encrusted hair and thrusts himself deeper and deeper – his balls now slapping rhythmically against Cass’ chin.

The sounds – slurps, hums and little satisfied moans coming from Cassidy – are breaking Jesse down, piece by piece. He doesn’t want it to ever, _ever_ stop, but he’s close now, _Lord above_ is he close. The heat tingles and creeps and throbs and grows and threatens to engulf Jesse – threatens to swallow him whole – much like Cass is doing right now. Jesse moans and he curses, each breath punctuated by profanity, and still Cassidy sucks, licks and hums – his eyes locked fiercely upon Jesse’s.

“Jesus. Fuckin’. _Christ!”_ Jesse roars as, with one final thrust, he shoots hard into the vampire’s eager mouth. Cass has won the battle, and Jesse doesn’t even care.

“Where the fuck did you learn to do that?” he says, as he helps Cassidy to his feet.

“Padre, I’m one hundred and nineteen years old,” Cass grins. “Ye t’ink I’ve never fellated a preacher in a church before?”

Jesse chuckles, and the sound is musical and light, easy and loose. He feels as if he’s been absolved of every sin he’s ever committed – and it feels right. It all just feels so _right._

Their dynamic has altered profoundly tonight, and Jesse feels as though he is seeing Cassidy for the first time – really _seeing_ him.

And Jesse, for one, is eternally grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I'm gross.
> 
> [okimi79.tumblr.com](http://okimi79.tumblr.com)
> 
> [A little visual, if you're that way inclined. ;)](http://riddlelvr.tumblr.com/private/173906279048/tumblr_p8qopsbHtL1udx1jc)


End file.
